


on a { California } roll

by matriarch-gob-bluth (Qinderella)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Tabby Chisolm, and eat a lot of sushi, everyone is kind of a hipster, pointless getting together nonsense, they live in San Fransisco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qinderella/pseuds/matriarch-gob-bluth
Summary: Goodnight and Billy meet in a sushi bar. Goodnight makes a bad first impression but it's still love at first sight. MODERN AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just really need these two to fall in love in every century okay

Have you ever caught something small and inconsequential on fire? Like, maybe you dropped a match while trying to light a candle, and it caught a small scrap of paper on fire, or maybe you flicked away your mostly smoked cigarette, only for it to light up some nearby dead grass? And so you think: “Oh, no big deal, I’ll just smother the flames and move on with my day” and you grab a nearby object to smother the flames, maybe a towel or a ratty flannel. But then, next thing you knew,  _ that  _ was on fire too, and now  _ two  _ things were on fire, and there still wasn’t a fire extinguisher in sight, and at this point, you could  _ try  _ to put the fire out with something else, but you weren’t sure if there was even a point, because at the rate you were going, you’d probably end up causing a forest fire in California, even if you were in San Antonio. 

Yeah, well, Goodnight had never had that experience either, because he didn’t go around waving Zippo lighters around or throwing lit matches on the grass like an  _ idiot _ . But metaphorically, that was exactly the experience he was having. 

For someone so poetic, so verbose, Goodnight could fit his foot so far back into his mouth that he was kicking his tonsils. 

It had started off so harmless too, and he had half a mind to be downright pissed off that any stranger would react so poorly to just a  _ harmless  _ misunderstanding, but then again, he’d gone so far out of his way by this point to make everything that much worse that he didn’t feel like he could fairly be pissed off at anyone but himself. 

He had been standing in line at a popular sushi dig, just trying to get his lunch to take back to the office, hoping that he’d have enough time to stop in the little 7/11 down the street and find a mediocre bottle of sweet tea on the way back--the first time he’d frequented this place, he’d made the mistake of  _ asking  _ if they had sweet tea, and he could still hardly show his face on Mondays during the 2-5 PM shift--and it was crowded, as per usual during the lunch rush in downtown San Francisco. The line was wrapped around the fairly small building at least three times, with more people milling in by the second, meaning that it was already impossible not to be practically shoulder to shoulder with the other people in line, so when he reached forward to grab the dish he wanted off the conveyor belt, accidentally bumping into the person in front of him in line, it was only to be expected. It didn’t even require an apology, honestly,

But Goodnight’s southern proprietary kicked him in the ass, and told him to give at least a lighthearted apology to the petite woman in front of him that he had practically bulldozed. She hadn’t turned around or reacted at all to the accidental contact, and he couldn’t see her face, just a slender frame, clad in a black shirt, (too) tight black skinny jeans, and red Doc Martens. She had a slight frame, but was almost as tall as him, making her legs go on for days. There was just the slightest curve to her waist, and the jeans hugged her hips enough to make it a pretty good view, if he were being honest. She had dark hair with a few blonde highlights tucked in a messy bun with two black hair pins criss-crossed. The pins were beautiful, Goodnight noticed peripherally, but looked as if they shouldn’t be able to hold her hair at all. Yet, they seemed to keep it held perfectly in place. 

Goodnight plastered on his best charming smile, and reached a gentle hand out, just hovering it over her shoulder. “Pardon me, ma’am.” 

Unflinchingly, the stranger turned then, and Goodnight had to admit, he was initially surprised. He hadn’t expected her to do anything more than perhaps dismissively wave her hand whilst texting. People in San Francisco had yet to show an interest in basic manners. However, that surprise was  _ nothing  _ compared to the surprise, and creeping dread, he felt upon seeing the stranger’s face. Either San Francisco truly was the most liberal place in the entire world, or the person he’d just “pardon me ma’am”-ed to, was in fact, a man. He still had delicate features, a soft jawline, sharp cheekbones, and long, dark eyelashes, but undoubtedly also had a well-kept goatee. Small, but still definitely facial hair. And although Goodnight  _ had  _ seen a couple of bearded ladies in his time, he thought that this time, his luck had just about run out. 

The stranger’s face remained unchanging, a steely gaze meeting Goodnight’s eyes, somehow mastering both curiosity and indifference simultaneously, then he said, “You are pardoned,” with absolutely no inflection, and turned back around, taking a few steps forward in line. 

Goodnight watched in disbelief as the man in front of him simply carried on with his lunch purchase, snagging a La Croix from the cooler, and giving no further indication that their interaction had happened at all.

This had been the small fire.

Goodnight could’ve just let it go. Sure it was embarrassing, but he obviously hadn’t mortally offended the fellow, and the probability of him ever  _ seeing  _ him again was so low that it wasn’t even a full percentage. If he’d just let it go, the fire probably would have just burned out on its own.

However, that’s when Goodnight decided to try and smother the flame, because he surged forward in the line, wrinkling his nose distastefully at the La Croix as he went, to catch up with the stranger, determined to break the ice. “So, you from around here?” Without waiting for a response, Goodnight continued absentmindedly.  “This place authentic enough for the prices they charge?” he joked, trying to brush off the painful miscommunication from moments before. 

To say it backfired would be an understatement. 

This time, when the stranger turned around, there was a definite shock, maybe outrage was too strong of a word but there was  _ something  _ there, in his eyes that made Goodnight’s heart drop down into his stomach. Then he replayed the words he’d just spoken, understood the unintentional implications, and his heart damn near  _ exploded _ . As did the stranger in front of him. “I’m  _ Korean _ , you dipshit,” he replied dryly, though there was a definite incredulity in his voice, before he turned around and approached the register, paying for his La Croix and crab rolls without sparing Goodnight another look. 

Before had been a genuine misunderstanding, a small offence, a careless flick of a cigarette onto the grass.  _ This  _ was fanning the flames with no excuse, and Goodnight almost wished he could burn to death.

Now was really the time to flee the sushi joint, find a new lunch spot, and go stuff his face in shame back at the office. 

But Goodnight was just a glutton for forest fires, and punishment, apparently, because he sped through his own purchase with hurried pleasantries, then nearly dashed after the retreating stranger, who had already cracked open his La Croix and was heading toward the door.

“Hey--! Wait!” 

He was genuinely surprised when the stranger actually stopped and turned back around to look at him, taking a sip from his brightly coloured can and raising one eyebrow a hair width. 

Goodnight actually had no idea what he was going to say, he hadn’t gotten that far, so he spluttered for a moment, before settling for, “Truly, you have my deepest apologies. I can assure you, I meant no harm. I understand how it may have sounded, but I would  _ never  _ presume to know where another man came from.” Goodnight said this solemnly and gazed at the stranger, others milling around them in rushed annoyance. 

The stranger’s eyebrow went up a little more. “Where are  _ you  _ from?” 

Goodnight was surprised at the question, but answered without reservation nonetheless. “I’m from Louisiana. I’m a long ways from home.”

The stranger scoffed. “ _ Louisiana. _ Huh. Could you guys even find South Korea on a labelled map?” 

Goodnight’s jaw dropped in genuine indignation. “Hey now! Though I may not be able to vouch for the entire state of Louisiana, I will have you know I had a cartography class in university. 1400’s-1900’s.” 

The stranger scoffed again, even harder this time. “Great. So you’re pretentious _ and  _ racist.” 

Goodnight huffed now. “ _ No _ , I’m trying to tell you, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t calling you--” A deep breath. “ _ No _ . I just thought, with the La Croix and the skinny jeans--” Stranger’s eyebrow went fully up this time, but Goodnight plowed on nonetheless, “that you might be from around here, and that maybe you had the low-down on food around here. I’m new to the area, I just moved here, and I don’t know nobody in town, except my friend Sam but he has  _ sworn off  _ sushi ever since the Great Food Poisoning Incident of 2007 in Baton Rouge, so I thought I could take tips anywhere I can get ‘em. Also, I thought maybe I ought to apologize again for uh...calling you ma’am. It was an...honest misunderstanding, scouts honor. And I really was a scout, though I didn’t finish--” 

The stranger was almost gaping, which was the most expressive Goodnight had seen him get since he first saw his face ten minutes ago. “ _ Dude _ .” he finally said, the cusp of an accent a little thicker on that word than it had been on any of his others. “Literally, I’m a stranger in a sushi bar. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He shook his head. “You aren’t in Louisiana anymore.” Curt, inflectionless, the stranger turned on his heel and began to walk away. Goodnight watched him go, and was genuinely surprised for what felt like the fifteenth time when the stranger turned back over his shoulder and added, “And I’m from Oregon, by the way.” before he really did make his exit, shoving the door open casually, and walking away from the sushi joint with a sense of finality that he really drove home by taking a swig of his La Croix and crossing the street. 

The fire finally seemed to be out, and Goodnight found himself feeling pretty cold in its wake. 

.

.

.

“You can’t cheat at  _ bowling _ , Sam. I mean, what do you think he did? Brought a hollow bowling ball?” 

It had been a little less than a week since the sushi bar incident, and for the most part, it couldn’t be further from Goodnight’s mind. He may have gone to the sushi bar for the next two days at almost the exact same time and glanced around--out of paranoia, he  _ swore _ \--but after two days without any sightings, he figured he was in the clear, and that the stranger, and his own foolishness, was lost to him in the vast city of San Francisco. 

Now, he was at a wedding, with a glass of pretty good champagne, and more than pretty good friends, and he couldn’t say that he could complain. 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t  _ know _ , but if  _ anyone  _ could cheat at bowling, it would be Faraday.” he insisted, glancing over at the blond at his shoulder, who was currently stuffing his face with a nondescript h'orderve. 

“Damn straight,” he said with a mouthful of what was maybe imitation crab. Sam rolled his eyes, and Goodnight laughed. 

It was Sam’s younger sister’s wedding day, AKA the day to make their final death threats to the computer programmer that she was marrying, pretend not to be crying when she walked down the aisle, and also take full advantage of the open bar that she was paying for. They’d already done two of those three things, and had now moved on to the reception, and, subsequently, the bar. Goodnight had been especially affected by the wedding ceremony itself, as he had known Tabby Chisolm when she was still tying off her braids with colourful plastic clips and asking him and Sam to play hopscotch with her in the driveway. Emotions aside, though, it was a good excuse for everyone to get back together. A few of their friends had come into town for it, all of them taking up residence on either Sam’s or Goodnight’s living room floors for the next couple of days. 

“Okay, but let me tell you what you really  _ can _ cheat at--ping pong,”

“Oh,  _ Jesus Christ, _ ” 

“No, no, no, no--hear me out--”

Goodnight was only about half-way listening, content to let Faraday and Sam snipe back and forth about nothing while he scanned the room in curiosity. Tabby always had been a socialite, and the number of guests at the wedding was truly staggering. Between the sheer number of people, rushing around to help Sam get last minute details into place, and sitting in the front row with Sam’s family, he hadn’t gotten much in the way of a chance to survey the room, or see if he recognized anyone.

So far, everyone he recognized was already standing around him, and the room was mostly filled with a bunch of unfamiliar faces.

Until it wasn’t. 

His eyes had just wandered to the other end of the bar when they were caught, instantaneously, no need for a double take, because he would know  _ that  _ face  _ anywhere _ . 

“ _ Sam--Sam _ , Sam, who is that??” Goodnight interrupted Sam and Faraday’s conversation suddenly. Sam was nonplussed. Faraday looked miffed. 

“Who’s who now?” Sam asked, glancing around.

“That guy there at the end of the bar...uhh, he’s wearing… Jesus Christ, is he wearing  _ silk _ ? The one with his hair up,” Goodnight prompted hurriedly, in a hushed voice, though it didn’t keep both Faraday and Vasquez from hearing him and craning their necks to try and spot him.

“Where?? I don’t see him, Goodnight,” Faraday complained loudly.

“Right  _ there  _ you berk,  _ Jesucristo, _ ” 

Goodnight glared in his direction and gave a hurried  _ shut up _ , before glancing back at Sam urgently.

“The one in all black?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” 

Sam shrugged. “I dunno his name. I think he’s a friend of Tabby’s. Why?” 

Goodnight shook his head. This could  _ not  _ be happening. But a quick glance back down the bar’s length told him that this definitely  _ was _ happening. At the end of the bar, holding a  _ bourbon  _ with such a delicate grip that he looked as though he should drop it at any moment, clad in nice black pants that were probably too tight to be considered slacks, classic Oxfords, and a black silk shirt with a complex embroidery done in black thread, was stranger from the sushi bar. He didn’t look so different now from when he was buying his La Croix and crab rolls, aside from being dressed nicer. He even had the same hair pins in, though his updo was slightly more complex than the messy bun he’d been sporting before.  

“Uhh, remember that incident I told you about, last week when I was out buying sushi?” Goodnight asked, sheepishly and rhetorically.

Now, Sam whipped around. “ _ That’s  _ Sushi Guy?” 

“ _ Yes _ , yes, that’s Sushi Guy, who definitely thinks that I called him a Japanese woman.” 

“Uhh, isn’t that because you  _ did  _ call him a Japanese woman?” Faraday interjected unhelpfully, even though he’d only heard the story second, or maybe even  _ third  _ hand.

“ _ No _ \--well, I maybe  _ implied  _ that he was a woman, but I didn’t call him Japanese! That was a misunderstanding!” Goodnight protested pointlessly, as Faraday had already moved onto shoving a fancily decorated cracker into his mouth whole. 

“ _ At least  _ you didn’t call him an  _ Oriental _ ,” Vasquez chimed in from behind Faraday, stealing his other cracker from him from the looks of it, “That shit’s  _ offensive _ .” 

Goodnight groaned. “I  _ didn’t  _ call him  _ anything _ \--” 

“Well, if that’s your story, you best be sticking to it, because he’s heading over here,” Sam commented sagely.

“What??” Goodnight whipped his head around, hoping that Sam was just fucking with him. However, his prayers were not answered, as Stranger From The Sushi Bar was indeed making a beeline for him, dark eyes locked on him with a bland sort of intensity that made Goodnight reflexively reach up and straighten his tie. All hopes that oh Lord please, don’t let him recognize me went straight out the window, and Goodnight cleared his throat, fingers tightening around the champagne flute in his hand. 

“Oh shii-iit,” Faraday laughed, “good thing the bar is stocked with ice, too, because you’re about to  _ need it _ .”

Goodnight rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply, as it was just about that time that the Stranger From The Sushi Bar had reached him, seemingly unintimidated by walking up to him while he was surrounded by a group of friends. 

Their eyes met, and Stranger simply dryly said, “Pardon me, Ma’am.” 

The awkward, tense silence was easily broken by a guffaw from Faraday, then subsequent laughs from Sam and Vasquez, and finally from Goodnight himself. 

“You are pardoned,” Goodnight replied easily, offering a smile in lieu of a white flag.

The stranger tilted his head, and though he didn’t smile or laugh, Goodnight thought he noticed a golden fleck of amusement in his left eye. 

So Goodnight pushed his luck. 

“You know, I figure if you’re going to keep showing up in my life, and making me look like a fool, you may as well know my name. It’s Goodnight Robicheaux.” 

Stranger did smile a little this time, though it was quick, blink and you miss it. “Goodnight?” 

“Don’t we all wish he was--but no, he’s not kidding,” Sam took this opportunity to pipe up, and give the ice a final crack. “His parents were either eccentric...or completely unimaginative, we’ve never quite been able to suss out which.” 

Stranger gave a faint smile again as his gaze shifted effortlessly to Sam. “You’re Tabby’s older brother, aren’t you?” 

_ Tabby _ . Just like that, a name so familiar to Goodnight, so intimate, resting so easily on Stranger’s tongue, because it was familiar to him too. It made a warmth seep slowly across Goodnight’s chest. 

Sam nodded, then offered his hand, which Stranger took after just a moment’s hesitation. “Sam Chisolm. A couple friends of ours, Faraday, Vasquez. And you’ve already met Goodnight, he tells me.” 

“Billy Rocks.”

Though Stranger... _ Billy  _ was technically introducing himself to Sam, his eyes were locked on Goodnight’s, and Goodnight’s eyes were just as locked on his. 

“Billy Rocks from Oregon.” 

Billy seemed taken aback that Goodnight had remembered that relatively useless bit of information, but replied nonetheless, “Goodnight Robicheaux from Louisiana.” 

Goodnight smiled. 

Vasquez and Faraday were eying each other with a practiced in-synch amused disdain. Sam was barely refraining from shaking his head. 

“And what brings you to the Republic of California, Goodnight Robicheaux from Louisiana?” Billy asked, and though it were a seemingly random, mundane question, Goodnight took it as an indicator that Billy didn’t want their interaction to end or to just walk away from him like last time, and he couldn’t say that he wanted either of those things either, so he was more than happy to answer.

“Work,” he replied honestly. 

Billy quirked an eyebrow. “Work? Wait, let me guess--English professor? Or is it history and geography?” 

“I’m an auditor,” Goodnight replied honestly and matter-of fact, lips turned up slightly at the corners. Goodnight had assumed that the askance had just been teasing, since he’d blurted out about his cartography class when they first met, but Billy actually looked a bit surprised by his answer, so maybe it had been a genuine assumption. He supposed that he wasn’t the norm for auditors, Billy wouldn’t have been the first to have not seen it coming. 

“They call him The Angel of Death,” Sam chimed in, sounding almost  _ proud  _ as he spoke, “Because if  _ Goodnight Robicheaux  _ does your audit, your business is as good as dead.”

“Yeah!” Faraday agreed, though Goodnight was fairly certain that he didn’t even know what an audit was, “What’s the number of places you’ve gotten shut down up to now, Goody? Fifty-three?”  __

Goodnight grimaced, almost apologetically to Billy. “ _ Thirty _ -three.” 

Faraday whistled. 

“They kicked him out of Dallas Fort Worth for putting everybody out of business!” Vasquez interjected cheerfully, before taking a drink of his Tequila Sour. 

“That’s _ not _ true--it was just a transfer,” Goodnight said with an easy roll of his eyes, and a slight hint of a smile. 

“Wow,” Billy replied a bit dryly, but Goodnight was starting to catch on to how he smiled with everything except his mouth, “I suppose I should just be happy that you can’t exactly put me out of work, then.”  

“What do you do? Wait, let me guess… freelance artist?” The skinny jeans, long hair, La Croix… it was a fair guess. Just as fair as Billy assuming that he was an  _ English professor _ , that is. He did love his Shakespeare, but the idea of being stuck in a classroom all day… Chafing. That’s what university had been for. 

Billy replied with a dry smile. “Very close. I’m a cardiovascular surgeon.” 

Well. That had sounded a little more impressive than auditor, Goodnight had to admit. More syllables. He was staring, not replying, something he hadn’t entirely noticed until he saw Sam roll his eyes out of his peripheral vision. He blinked and tried to just offer a polite head nod in return but his plain awe was still abundantly clear. Pretty _ and _ a doctor--if his family weren’t quietly homophobic, he would be the ideal partner to bring home for Christmas. 

“Best damn one in all of the pacific northwest!” 

Thankfully, they were spared an awkward ten seconds of silence while Goodnight gawked and Billy silently appraised, because Tabby interjected just then. Still wearing her wedding dress and borderline ridiculous number of petticoats, she leaned in to Billy from behind, and looping an arm over his shoulder and sloshing just a little champagne onto his shirt. He didn’t react. “That’s how Billy and I met--in med school at Berkeley.” 

“I saw Tabby, observing an open heart surgery while still eating her fries with ketchup, to assert her dominance within our class, and the rest is history,” Billy said in that insincere solemn way he had about him, Tabby scoffing beside him. 

“Yeah, well, I only hung out with him for his THC cigarettes,”

Billy looked at her and she immediately burst out laughing, tossing her arms around his neck, oh, there went the rest of her champagne, muffling something along the lines of  _ ‘I love you so much!’  _ Billy hugged her back, admittedly less drunkenly, rubbing along her back before she straightened herself up. 

“Okay, I should probably go talk to Dr. THOT now,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward a group of people Goodnight didn’t recognize, to which Billy snorted and rolled his eyes, “But don’t leave! We’ll be cutting the cake soon. You guys take care of him, all right??” She threatened good-naturedly, making an ‘eyes-on-you’ motion toward her brother and friends, before flouncing away, mostly empty champagne glass in hand. 

Goodnight levelled Billy with a focused look, feeling warm, and it wasn’t champagne-warm. “Do you still have the cigarettes?” he asked, just hinting at a smile.

Billy shook his head. “You know, smoking kills.”  Goodnight opened his mouth, to apologize, to maybe wonder out loud why he couldn’t seem to form a decent sentence around him, until Billy actually did smile. “Of course I do.” 

Goodnight tried to laugh, but it came out a little too breathless for the circumstances, so instead he straightened himself up and extended his hand.  _ ‘Oh God, he’s totally going to do it!’  _ he heard Vasquez say, but it sounded like his voice was a million miles away, as was Faraday’s when he followed up with  _ ‘You totally owe me ten bucks!’ ‘How about another Bourbon?’ ‘Fine--wait, no, this is an open bar you jackass!’  _ Billy was staring at him, expectantly, patiently, and Goodnight swallowed. “Well, since there is no smoking indoors, would you do me the honour of having this dance with me?” 

Billy blinked, tilting his head just slightly to look up at him, then looked down at his hand. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of observation, he placed a slender hand into Goodnight’s and coolly replied, “Sure.” 

Okay, well that was...okay. Goodnight smiled, then, with more composure than he really felt, said, “Don’t drink it all before I get back,” gesturing to the bar, before he led Billy out onto the dancefloor. 

There was a moment of uncertainty as they turned to face each other on the dancefloor. The music wasn’t classical--Tabby had  _ refused  _ to play traditional music,  _ what kind of Godforsaken reception is that, Samuel? _ \--and they both had a simultaneous moment of pause while trying to figure out how to go about dancing. 

“This isn’t exactly two-stepping music,” Billy was the first to break the silence, though he didn’t retract his hand from Goodnight’s, instead extending his fingers across his palm and squeezing. 

Goodnight laughed. “Oh, don’t underestimate the faithful two-step--in Louisiana,  _ everything  _ is two-stepping music.” 

Billy looked like he was about to ask if that was actually  _ true _ , but Goodnight caught him off guard by pulling him in, his free hand going to his waist, perhaps a bit too forcefully, as Billy didn’t lose his footing but their bodies ended up pressed completely together.  _ Not  _ as acceptable in Louisiana. 

After an initial moment of surprise, Billy didn’t seem to mind though, so Goodnight lightly pushed him backward, trying to match the slightly unpredictable beat of the song. Before he could fall into a rhythm, Billy pushed him back and when Goodnight quirked a questioning eyebrow, he simply replied, “I can lead.” 

It should have annoyed him, should have surprised him, should have done anything other than make him starstruck, but here he was, practically gawking at his dance partner, more openly than he’d ever gawked at another human being in his life. Billy seemed to have his facial expressions more under control, and only the fact that his fingers were still interlocked with Goodnight’s reassured him that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to be there.

As did Billy speaking first, which he did again. “Are you seriously wearing a bolo tie? What is this, a John Wayne movie?” 

“Hey now--there’s nothing wrong with bolo ties! Says the guy wearing skinny jeans to a wedding!” Goodnight shot back good-naturedly.

Billy rolled his eyes, but it was the same way that he’d rolled his eyes with Tabby earlier. Affectionate. Goodnight’s stomach flipped. “They’re not  _ skinny jeans _ , they’re slacks.” Keeping their eyes locked together, he trailed his hand from Goodnight’s shoulder, down the length of his arm, finally masking it over Goodnight’s hand and pushing it down, until he could settle it on his hip. It took all of Goodnight’s self-control not to look down and watch. “ _ See? _ ” Billy stressed, and Goodnight let his fingers fan against the relatively thin material against Billy’s hip. 

This was asking for  _ a lot  _ of self-control, and he thumbed roughly against the protruding bone against his hand. “I see,” he replied, just a little strained. 

Billy didn’t physically react to the touch, but Goodnight could see his eyes darken, and his fingers reflexively dug in. The air between them was almost palpably electric, and Goodnight reflexively touched his tongue to his bottom lip. He should just thank him for the dance, politely excuse himself to drink ten more glasses of champagne, then hope like hell he could convince himself to ask for his phone number lately. 

Instead, Goodnight threw the match into the grass. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked lowly.

Billy’s eyelashes fluttered slightly as he looked down, then back up. “I would...but I think they’re about to cut the cake. I really love wedding cake.” His voice lilted coyly, as if telling Goodnight not to give up, eyes not so subtly darting toward the door, and Goodnight followed his gaze. 

“Oh, of course,” he replied with the utmost sincerity, “We couldn’t miss wedding cake now, could we?” 

.

“ _ Fuck _ , you’re--beautiful,” 

Billy’s back hit the door, and his teeth bared against a warm mouth, fingers moving up to loosen Goodnight’s ridiculous bolo tie. He huffed then. “Are you sure no one’s going to need a mop in the next thirty minutes?” 

Goodnight looked up from where his face was buried in the side of Billy’s neck, and rolled his eyes. “What kind of question is that?” 

“A  _ valid  _ one, considering how much champagne Tabby is spilling in her wake.” 

Goodnight flipped their positions, pressing Billy against the wall of one the cramped supply closets they had managed to find down the hall from the reception room. “Well, if they want a mop, they can come in and get one, I don’t mind one bit.”

Billy huffed again, but the sound was soon aborted by something closer to a moan when Goodnight sunk his teeth into his neck. He relaxed, tilting his head to give Goodnight more access, hands resting lightly on his shoulders as he let Goodnight’s hands grope up his body. One slid up the nape of his neck, calloused fingers pressing into the base of his skull, sliding into his hair and--  “ _ Mmm _ \--what are you-- _ no _ \--” his protest came too late, as Goodnight’s hands had already tangled into his hair, pulling the pins from it, causing it to unravel from his updo. “ _ Goodnight,”  _

“Sorry,” Goodnight murmured against his ear, sliding Billy’s hairpins into his hand apologetically. “I’ll redo it for you.”

Billy quirked an eyebrow, then tilted his head up in order to feel more of Goodnight’s lips on his neck. “ _ Can you? _ ” 

Goodnight paused, then bit into the flesh just about Billy’s collarbone thoughtfully. “No,” he finally admitted sheepishly, “I’m sorry.” 

Billy’s hand found Goodnight’s jaw and he pulled him up, letting his thumb stroke against his cheekbone affectionately. “Do you  _ ever _ think before you speak?” he asked, in a tone bordering on amazement. 

Goodnight shook his head. “It’s hard to think when I’m looking at you,” He admitted, and though it was flirtatious, there were notes of sincerity behind his words. 

If it hadn’t been dim in the supply closet, Goodnight would’ve noticed shades of pink dust Billy’s cheek. “Well, I’ve been thinking about you since you tried to apologize to me not only once, but  _ twice _ , in the sushi bar,” Billy murmured, so quietly that Goodnight wasn’t sure he’d meant to say it outloud. 

“Why?” Goodnight asked, more genuinely curious than anything. 

Billy shrugged, glancing down reflexively. 

They kissed then, harder than before, and Goodnight brazenly moved his hands down Billy’s slight frame, resting them on his ass and pulling him closer with a heady sigh. 

When their kiss broke, Billy kept their foreheads touching. “I knew you didn’t mean it. And you still apologized. I think one in a million people would do that. That’s why I’ve been thinking about you.” 

Startled by the raw honesty, Goodnight didn’t have anything to say to that, a rare occurrence, so he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of Billy’s mouth, and felt him smile. 

“And you’re pretty hot. That helped your chances.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Goodnight replied, tangling his hands in Billy’s hair--it was even softer than it looked--and letting their lips slide together. 

In the next moment, Billy’s hands were sliding to his belt, and Goodnight wondered if he should even bother saying the courteous ‘ _ oh, you don’t have to-- _ ’ but already knowing that he was going to, when there was a rather raucous banging on the supply closet door, making him jump. Billy didn’t jump--his reflexes were almost scarily controlled, Goodnight had noticed in even this short time--but his gaze did sharply jolt over to the door. He blinked.

“Maybe someone needed a mop after all.” 

Goodnight laughed--he couldn’t help it--and outside the door, Sam Chisolm swore loudly. 

“Goddamnit Goodnight, you better be sweeping the floor in there!” 

Goodnight laughed even harder at that, admittedly relieved that it wasn’t an actual custodian that he’d have to explain himself to, and he opened his mouth to answer, but Billy held up his hand to cut him off. 

“He’s smoking my THC cigarettes,” Billy said into the darkness, “we’ll be out in a sec.”. He was met with silence, until Goodnight started laughing again, and Sam swore again, without actually sounding all that upset. 

Goodnight reached out and turned the doorknob, letting the door swing open, revealing his and Billy’s slightly dishevelled, but decent, state to Sam, who just rolled his eyes grandly. “Okay, tell me, Goody, _ expound for me _ \--how is it that you say just about the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard and  _ still  _ get laid?” With a glance toward Billy, he added, “you do know he’s the  _ same  _ dumbass from the sushi bar, right?” 

Billy just quirked a smile in response. 

“What can I say, Sam--it’s not what you say, it’s the  _ way  _ you say it.” Goodnight replied, reaching out to clap Sam’s shoulder. Sam shrugged off his touch playfully, shoving him back a little. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you jackass. Let me tell you something, if this weren’t my little sister’s wedding, I’d take this outside, challenge you to a duel at sunrise, Old West style and everything, you hear me?”

Goodnight laughed. “Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Sam.” 

“Well, if the two of you can give the “THC” a break, Tabby’s about to cut the cake. I’m sure I don’t need to paint a picture of how she’ll react if you guys miss it?” 

“Yeah, we should get back,” Billy replied almost immediately, and Sam gave a slight glance between them when neither of them actually made a move to leave. 

“We’re right behind you,” Goodnight waved him off, and Sam left with a last knowing look, muttering something about  _ fucking Faraday’s bet  _ under his breath that made Goodnight smile. Billy was redoing his hair, though not quite as intricately as it had initially been, it still captivated Goodnight. Goodnight straightened his own tie and shirt collar, then looked over at Billy and smiled. Billy wasn’t looking at him, focused on twisting and interlocking pieces of hair. The sight of him just made Goodnight smile. 

Billy was just sliding the last pin into his hair, when Goodnight moved to stand in front of him. 

“All right--either you let me take you out, or I find a new sushi joint.” 

Billy blinked at him in blank confusion for a moment, then blinked again and laughed. “Well…” he pretended to stop and deliberate, “I  _ wouldn’t  _ want you to have to find a new sushi joint. After all, that’s the most  _ authentic  _ one in the area.”

Goodnight laughed. “How thoughtful of you.” 

Billy gave another non-visible smile, and Goodnight was quickly finding that they were his favourite sight. 

“I already know your hometown, your career, and your sushi order, so really, we’re halfway there,” Goodnight commented idly, more out of want to hear himself talk than anything else.

Billy huffed out a quiet laugh, then closed the distance between them, giving Goodnight a soft, but firm, press of lips on lips. “Yeah,” he said after pulling away, “We are.” 

With that he turned around and walked back toward the direction of the reception, without so much as a backward glance.

With a soft smile, Goodnight watched him go.

Then, he walked the blazen trail and followed him. 

 

end

**Author's Note:**

> The song I imagined playing for Goodnight and Billy's dance is the acoustic version of "Where The Wild Things Are" by Alessandra Cara.


End file.
